


The Best Things in Life are Almost Free

by domesticadventures, propinquitous



Series: grocery!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Couponing, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures, https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/pseuds/propinquitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look at all these groceries, Dean,” Cas says, beaming. “They cost me precisely thirty-two cents.”</p><p>Dean looks like he isn’t sure whether to be impressed or appalled. “Cas,” he says. “How.”</p><p>--</p><p>In which Cas discovers the joy of couponing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Things in Life are Almost Free

They’re standing in the checkout line at the local supermarket. Cas is staring curiously at the tabloids, wondering to what extent he should be interested in guessing which beach body belongs to whom. He runs his fingertips over the edge of one magazine and debates looking inside for more information, but thinks that maybe he doesn’t care all that much and pulls away. He turns to face Dean, standing at the counter and watching their total rise.

Dean moves to hand the cashier some cash, placing what looks like a small, colorful piece of paper on top of the bills.

“Wait,” Cas says, snatching everything from Dean’s hand. “What’s this?”

“A...coupon?” Dean says. “Like hell am I paying full price for Red Bull. The caffeine is nice, but that crap tastes like cough syrup.”

Cas hands Dean back the bills but squints at the coupon, reading the fine print, oblivious. He flips it over to examine the back, puzzling over the incomprehensible piece of an advertisement he finds there. Dean coughs in his direction.

“Cas,” Dean says. “People are waiting. People are _staring_.”

“Patience is a virtue, Dean.”

“ _Cas_.”

“Fine,” Cas says, with a _hmph_. “I was finished, anyway.”

Dean manages to pay the bewildered cashier and they’re so close, so, _so_ close to making it out of the store, when Cas spots her.

There’s a woman in the next line over with a whole binder full of coupons, purchasing a ton of groceries. The cashier is scanning coupon after coupon as the woman watches her total go down and down. She winds up paying $2.14 for what looks like enough food to feed a small army for a month.

Cas gives Dean a pointed look. “I think she understands this better than you, Dean.”

In an uncharacteristic display of extroversion, Cas makes a move toward the woman, leaving Dean standing in the middle of the automatic doors with three grocery bags looped over each arm. When it becomes clear that Cas is on a mission, Dean trudges over and sets the bags down at the base of a claw machine filled with small plastic bubbles. He sets to sulking immediately. Cas ignores him completely, scribbling frantic notes on the back of their receipt as the woman talks at him animatedly.

Dean scowls petulantly. He knows when he’s been defeated. “Fine,” Dean says, settling onto a nearby bench with a huff. “The ice cream is melting, but whatever, it’s fine.” He sits with his arms crossed until Cas waves his new friend goodbye and walks over to Dean with a big grin on his face.

“Look what I got,” Cas says, holding out some obviously fake money with cartoon characters printed on the front. “She said she usually saves them for her children, but she gave me some to use. It was very kind of her.”

“Woohoo,” Dean says, and tries not to feel like a five year old.

Cas is having none of his attitude. “The other machine dispenses coupons for free samples,” Cas explains. “If you get some, I'll give you the buddy bucks so you can use the claw machine.”

Dean wants to continue sulking, but he’s kind of eager to prove how awesome he is. He compromises. “Do you think I can be bought so easily?” he asks.

In response, Cas grins and holds out the fake money. Dean gifts him with another eye roll, but he takes the so-called “buddy bucks” and turns to the touch-screen machine, poking at it crankily until it spits out a few coupons.

“Look,” Dean says to Cas, waving the bits of paper at him, “free tampons and mascara. Just what we need.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, folding the coupons carefully and tucking them into his back pocket.

“All right, that’s enough of being an adult for now,” Dean says, turning to the far more colorful machine and inserting the fake money. He presses a button until the claw drops, maneuvering it expertly. He grabs a bubble on his first try, and the machine obediently brings it to the front corner before dropping it for Dean to retrieve from the trough at the bottom.

“Well done,” Cas says, actual pride in his voice.

“Whatever,” Dean says, but he opens the plastic container and pulls out a round red sticker with  a large yellow #1 taking up most of the area. In a display of defiance that’s closer to affection, he peels it off the backing and sticks it to the front of his jacket. Cas beams at him. 

\--

The following Wednesday, Dean can’t find Cas. He’s looked in the garage, in the library, the kitchen; he’s looked in every bedroom, bathroom, and shower room. He’s even looked in the dungeon, but Cas is nowhere to be found.

“Have you seen Cas?” Dean asks, short of breath and a little shaky. Sam looks up from his book with knitted eyebrows.

“No, I figured he was still asleep.”

“I can’t find him, but. He’s got to be around here somewhere.” Dean shakes his head, a little bewildered, and Sam nods in agreement.

“Did you try calling his phone?”

“Shit, no,” Dean laughs at himself and digs his phone out of his pocket.

When Cas doesn’t answer and Dean can’t hear it ring, he grabs his keys and heads for the front door, not even thinking to tell Sam what he’s doing. He’s two steps out the door when he trips over a toolbox.

“ _Cas_? What the fuck?”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, looking up from his project. He’s sitting crosslegged on the ground with a small pile of lumber next to him.

“What are you doing?” Dean hasn’t moved since he recovered from the toolbox’s assault.

“Building a mailbox,” Cas says, as if it’s the most obvious thing he could be doing on a Wednesday morning. “I found instructions online and purchased one that looks like a birdhouse. See?” He holds up a piece of paper to show Dean a print out of what is essentially a birdhouse with US MAIL printed on the front and a little red flag attached.

“What do you need a mailbox for?”

“Coupons,” Cas says. Dean is getting tired of his tone.

“Cas, we don’t have an _address_.”

“So get us one.” Cas shrugs and returns to his work. Dean stands stock still, trying to comprehend how deep this new interest goes. After a while, he reaches forward to pet Cas’ hair.

“Okay,” he says, and goes inside to ask Sam if making up their own address is a federal crime.

\--

The evening after the first round of newspapers arrive, Cas sits at one of the large tables in the library, a huge spread of circulars and newspapers in organized piles and rows. He has the laptop in front of him and is tapping away furiously as the printer spits out page after page of additional coupons. Every now and then, he scribbles something unintelligible into a spiral-ring notebook.

“Hey,” Dean says, kissing the top of Cas’ head as he passes by. “Guess what?”

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asks, looking up from his newfound obsession momentarily.

“It’s you,” Dean says. “Neeeeeeerd.”

\--

Cas’ first attempt at couponing doesn’t go exactly as planned.

“It says one per purchase,” the cashier says, staring at Cas’ coupons with a look of utter boredom.

Cas is prepared, however. He read about such scenarios and how to handle them. “Yes, one per purchase,” he agrees. “I am purchasing four. Therefore, I can use four coupons.”

“Look, man--” the cashier begins, but stops when he sees Cas glaring at him. Cas hopes his look says _I would smite you, but I need you to complete this transaction as intended as I drove quite some distance to get here_ like he wants it to.

“If you insist on being pedantic,” Cas says calmly, “split it into four transactions. I assure you, I am in no great hurry.”

The cashier stares at Cas for a few long seconds, as though deciding how much he cares about the two dollars his employer will lose if he accepts the coupons when he shouldn’t. “Who even says _pedantic_ ,” he grumbles, but he finishes processing Cas’ transaction.

Cas walks over to Dean, triumphant. Dean has been standing a respectable distance away, not wanting, as he put it, “to get caught up in this madness.”

“Look at all these groceries, Dean,” Cas says, beaming. “They cost me precisely thirty-two cents.”

Dean looks like he isn’t sure whether to be impressed or appalled. “Cas,” he says. “How.”

Cas shrugs. “It's a simple matter of strategy,” he explains, because it is.

At that point, though, Dean takes a moment to actually survey the contents of the not one but two carts Cas has wheeled over. He frowns a little. “Cas, I hate to break it to you, but we don't need a hundred bottles of Gatorade.”

“I purchased plenty of groceries in addition to the Gatorade, Dean. Besides, it will keep. These don't expire until 2018.”

Dean looks unimpressed, but he takes one of the carts and helps Cas load the groceries into the car, and Cas figures that’s as good a victory as any.

\--

They unload the groceries at the bunker, Dean surveying the contents skeptically. “Jeez, Cas,” he says, “what are we even going to do with this stuff? I see you used the coupons for the tampons. And there are...adult diapers in here, and like, thirty cans of ravioli. What even.”

Cas shrugs. He liked the process, like it was a game. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

Dean pulls out one of the numerous cans of Chef Boyardee. He spins it in his palm thoughtfully for a few seconds before placing it on the shelf and stacking the rest in neat rows.

“You know, there’s no way we’ll ever be able to eat all this stuff, even if it’s non-perishable. I don’t think Sam will even _touch_ the ravioli, and I’m sure these diapers will be out of fashion by the time we’ll need them. SkyNet will be online by then, anyway,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows.

“What are you trying to say, Dean?”

  
“I’m just saying, maybe we could donate this stuff. Barring a curse or some really miraculous biology, we’re not gonna need the tampons, either. But shelters and food banks always need personal care stuff.”

Dean has heard the expression _his face lit up_ plenty of times, but he’s never really understood it until now.

“I would like that very much,” Cas says and returns to shelving their haul.

\--

“Cas, I know we’ll probably _eventually_ use--” Dean pauses to double check Cas’ calculations. “--twenty _thousand_ square feet of toilet paper, but there’s no reason we can’t give some of it away.”

“Dean. Have you ever run out of toilet paper.” Cas possesses the uncanny ability to turn any question into a statement of fact.

“Yeah, I mean, probably,” Dean admits. Cas glares at him and pulls out another spreadsheet with “Best Toilet Paper Prices” in bold across the top.

“I found this online. The math is sound. And if I continue to combine this knowledge with weekly coupons, I can ensure none of us ever faces the...the _trauma_ of an inadequately cleaned as--”

“Ohhhhhhh kay, I’ve heard enough,” Dean interrupts, throwing his hands in the air and leaving Cas to contemplate the price per square foot of personal hygiene in peace.

“Dean, you've been quite clear how important cleanliness of the anus is to our sex life,” Cas shouts after him.

Dean pretends he doesn’t hear.

\--

Cas’ next haul comes with twenty-four packages of bologna, which Dean does not notice until he’s loading it into their brand new industrial refrigerator. Dean had held out against it as long as he could, but the amount of perishables that Cas brings home some weeks is more than even they can get rid of, shelters or no.

“Casti _el_ ,” Dean says, with the tone of a mom calling her kid by their middle name.

“Yes?” Cas is unperturbed.

“Why would you buy this much,” Dean pauses for effect, “ _bologna_?”

“I didn’t actually buy any of it. In fact, I made six cents per package.”

“Cas. No one. Likes. Bologna.”  
  
“Dean. It doesn’t. Expire. For months.”  
  
“That’s because it’s not real meat!” Dean exclaims. He continues throwing the packages into the fridge, anyway. He doesn’t understand why he’s getting worked up about this.

“If it bothers you that much, we can give it all away,” Cas says, as if he doesn’t want to keep arguing the finer points of the bologna’s economic value.

“This Sunday. Salvation Army. You’re taking it.”

“I will.”

“Thank you,” Dean sighs as his shoulders sag. Cas leans over to kiss the back of his neck before he shelves the last of the canned pineapple.

\--

Cas’ latest haul involves mass quantities of deodorant and hair dye. “Trying to say something, Cas?” Dean jokes, then picks up one of the sticks of deodorant and frowns. “Hold up. This is women’s deodorant, dude.”

Cas shrugs. “I like the smell of ‘sweet plum blossom,’ Dean.”

“But it’s…” Dean trails off and makes a vaguely effeminate gesture.

“It’s what?”

“It’s such a chick smell.”

Cas fixes him with a level stare. “Plum trees are genderless and reproduce asexually.”

Dean rolls his eyes, picking up a box of hair dye next.

“Why do we need this? It isn’t anywhere close to our natural hair colors. And I can’t imagine Sam with glorious blue-black locks.”

“Should I get the men’s hair dye next time? The one that covers up the gray?”

Dean scowls, but Cas smiles as he touches the graying hairs by Dean’s temples. “I prefer the ‘touch of gray’ dye, myself.”

“All right, all right,” Dean says, gently removing Cas’ hand from his face and kissing his palm. “Sorry I asked.”

“No problem, Dean,” Cas says. Then gets a mischievous look. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a good deal on ‘over 60’ vitamins this week.”

“You’re impossible,” Dean says, dropping Cas’ hand and stalking from the room in mock disapproval.

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Cas shouts after him. “They’re _men’s_ vitamins.”

\--

Dean lets Cas go on his adventures alone for a long time, citing embarrassment after the first incident, but eventually Cas’ poor choices force him to reconsider his position.

The tipping point is at Halloween, when he imagines Cas coming home with candied kale or something equally incomprehensible. He imagines all of the organic, whole wheat pumpkin cookies Cas will undoubtedly turn up with, the caramel apple coating made with _Nutrasweet_ that no one buys because, hello, it’s fucking awful. Dean doesn’t understand how you can even _make_ caramel without sugar.

As if he couldn’t hear Dean’s internal monologue, Cas looks kind of surprised when Dean, compelled by an increasing fear of artificial sweeteners, actually asks to come along to do the grocery shopping.

“Gotta make sure you get the good stuff,” Dean explains. “I mean, you got _Lean Pockets_ last week, Cas. What is even the point. No one eats that shit to be healthy. And no one _likes_ turkey jerky, they just eat it because they’re lying to themselves.”

Cas shrugs, but he’s so pleased to have Dean keeping him company that he doesn’t dare argue.

\--

After he starts sharing the grocery trips, Dean insists on going with Cas the next time he’s ready to donate extra to a food pantry in a church. They pass through a hallway covered in inspirational quotes and paintings of doves and Jesus healing people, and Dean’s mostly just bemused until he notices a particular quote painted on the wall:

“The fact that our heart yearns for something Earth can't supply is proof that Heaven must be our home.” - C.S. Lewis

Dean looks over and sees exactly what he was terrified of, that Cas has paused and is looking at it with a pensive expression, and he waits for Cas to...he doesn’t know. To set down his coupons and ascend into heaven, Dean supposes. To go to the great grocery store in the sky.

“The logic is unsound,” Cas says, instead. “You yearn for a house made out of pie, but that doesn’t mean it’s your home.”

“Oh?” Dean asks, smiling with relief. “How can you be sure of that?”

“You already have a home,” Cas says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but is it made out of pie? I like pie a lot.”

“You like me a lot,” Cas says, seriously, then tilts his head to the side, thinking. “Besides, I have numerous coupons for pie.”

\--

“Do you miss it?” Dean asks that night as they lay in bed. Cas’ head rests on his chest, and he cranes his neck to meet Dean’s gaze.

“Miss what?”

“Your home. Heaven.”

“This is my home,” Cas says, but Dean is still frowning at him, Dean is waiting for more of an answer than that. “I do miss it, sometimes,” Cas adds, hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but it’s like they say: Home is where the coupons are.”

Dean chuckles weakly. “Finally figured out why you like me so much,” Dean says. “Guess I was a real bargain.” He says it like it’s a joke, but there are crinkles at the edges of his smile, there are tiny tears in his voice like his words are made of the same fragile paper as the coupons.

Cas presses a hand to Dean’s face, smooths Dean’s cheek with his thumb. “I would pay any price for you, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean can’t form the words to respond, so he settles for burying his nose in Cas’ hair.

“Mmm,” Dean says, inhaling. “Cucumber melon.”

Cas smiles against Dean’s neck. “Yes,” he says proudly. “Fifteen cents.”

 


End file.
